


Emerald-eyed saviour

by gatomonfan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Prompt Fic, Top Harry, Torture, bottom legolas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:30:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatomonfan/pseuds/gatomonfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas thought that when the war for the rings was over he would be able to live in peace. He never expected to be taken from his woodland home by men in white skull masks and then saved by a group of men and women who claim to be wizards, he certainly didn't expect to wake up from a nightmare to find an emerald-eyed boy sitting at his bedsid, and no one expected the saviour of the wizarding world to fall in love with an elf from another world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Harry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [huskielover94](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=huskielover94).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. If I did I would be rich and not taking prompts offered to me by a fellow fanfiction writer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry chances his luck in a room that has been forbidden in grimauld place and makes the discovery of a life time.

“What are you doing, Harry?” Harry asked himself as he rounded yet another corner after peering cautiously around it for anyone headed in the opposite direction.  
“Don't go up to the fifth guest room on the fourth floor.” The order had told him and his friends. The others had listened, shivering at the memory of the last time they had ventured somewhere that was forbidden, but Harry was curious. The order hadn't said what was in the room nor whether it was dangerous or not, they had simply said not to go up to it and Harry's boundless curiosity wouldn't let him leave it at that. He had to know what was in that room.  
It couldn't be anything to dangerous, he reasoned, or he would have run into some sort of ward by now. The guest room on the fourth floor was one of the nicer ones. In fact, considering how many dark objects most of the rooms in grimmauld place contained, the guest room on the fourth floor was relatively light with no cursed objects (that they knew of), no doxies and no boggarts. You could say that the only thing dark about it was the dreary black wallpaper. Why give a room like that over to something deadly? They were trying to improve the house not make it worse.  
He slowed down when he reached the fourth floor. It wasn't a floor that saw frequent visits which had allowed the dust to build up like snow, despite the recent cleaning it had had courtesy of Mrs Weasley. It was eerily quiet during the night and Harry, unused to long desolate halls that didn't have a talking portrait or wandering ghost in them, found his resolve to find out what was in that room diminish slightly. Curiosity killed the cat and the like. Despite his fear, Harry found himself replying out of instinct. “Satisfaction brought it back again.”  
“You've come this far.” He muttered, gathering up what was left of his curiosity and dipping deep into his store of gryffindor courage.  
He continued down the hall counting the doors as he passed them, trying desperately to ignore the echo of his footsteps as they shattered the silence.  
The doors on this floor were all painted in varying shades of desolate grey from Mrs Weasley's attempt to paint over the old black paint with a fresh white shade. It had worked at first but at some point whatever spell the Blacks had cast on their house had taken effect and the previous colour had started to bleed through.  
“Fifth guest room, fourth floor.” Harry stopped at the appropriate door and grasped the knob. He pushed the door open slowly, wincing as the old hinges creaked anyway despite his efforts.  
What he was expecting to see, Harry wasn't sure, but he knew it wasn't anything like the sight he was currently beholding.  
The room, decked out in greys and blacks just like the rest of the house, seemed to be filled with an ethereal glow radiating out from the figure slumbering quietly in a queen sized bed. The figure hadn't stirred despite the loud banshee-like squeal of the hinges but Harry found himself holding his breath and moving forwards on his tip toes anyway.  
He approached the bed cautiously, eventually coming to a stop next to the head where he took the time to register the sight before him.  
The man lying under the covers looked like an angel straight from heaven. Hair the colour of golden sheaves of grain spread out over the pillows like a halo almost, but not quite, concealing ears that ended in a slight but definite point.  
Pale skin was unwrinkled and youthful but at the same time it seemed stretched and was an unhealthy white as if he hadn't been in sunlight for months, maybe years.  
He would be about 6'1'' if he stood as far as Harry could tell. If it weren't for the goblins fixing the result of years of malnutrition, the mysterious male would have easily dwarfed Harry with his old height of 5'5''. Thankfully that was in the past and he now stood at 6'11'' verging on 7'.  
Harry jumped slightly when he noticed the males open eyes, fearing he had perhaps woken him up at some point, but calmed slightly when he noted the lack of movement and the slight haze that clouded storm grey eyes.  
What was this man (for calling him a creature wouldn't have done him justice), Harry wondered, that he slept so still and quietly with his eyes open? Harry prided himself on having quite good knowledge when it came to magical creatures, it had been necessary for many of his adventures and both that hands on experience and some in depth studying into them during his preparations for the triwizard tournament last year had led to him giving some serious competition to Hermione for 1st in care of magical creatures, but, even with his perfect memory, he couldn't remember having heard of anything that matched this statuesque male's description.  
Harry sank into a chair positioned next to the bed, content to watch this male sleep with a fascination that would probably come across as stalkerish to anyone who happened upon the scene.  
He didn't know how long he sat there, thinking, wondering, his eyes never straying from the enigma in front of him. He kept himself busy trying to figure out the man's tale. He was probably here as a result of the order's most recent raid on Voldemort. The timing was about right and it certainly explained why they had come back looking so hassled despite the victory they later spoke of. He wondered where the male was from, what he was, how he came to be in Voldemort's possession.  
He looked up sharply and abandoned his thoughts when the male moaned in his sleep and started to shift in his sleep. He didn't know where he had seen it, but Harry had read that moaning in your sleep could be a scream inside a dream and he had suffered enough nightmares to know that shifting suddenly and often whilst sleeping could mean that the dreamer was either trying to avoid or runaway from something. He frowned. He didn't like seeing anyone going through a nightmare that made them scream and try to runaway and he especially didn't like seeing someone like this male going through one but he had no idea of what to do. When he was growing up there had been no one there for him when nightmares had struck. Even when they had gotten more frequent after his repetitive encounters with his parent's killer, he had been left to wake up by himself and deal with the aftermath by himself.  
Should he wake the male up or leave him be and see if he he calmed down by himself? In the end, the sleeper took the decision from him jolting awake with a gasp and bolting forwards suddenly.  
It was as though someone had suddenly hit the play button on a paused video. The now awake male curled in on himself, grabbing his knees and pulling them tightly into his chest making himself as small as possible, waiting for some sort of blow and when it didn't come he released the breath he had been holding in a shaky sob and Harry realised with a start that large pearl-like tears had started to roll down the angular face, dripping off of his pointed chin to land on the sheets that had pooled around his waist when he had lurched forwards.  
Harry's heart leapt in sympathy for the distraught man in front of him who was starting to remind him painfully of himself when he was younger. Unsure of what to do he lent forward awkwardly and started to rub circles soothingly on the shorter's back.  
The other tensed at the sudden, unexpected and unknown hand suddenly rubbing his back but the sobs didn't stop, continually exiting his body with enough force that it left his long, frail form trembling like a leaf.  
“Shhh. It's okay, nothings going to hurt you. Your safe.” He soothed quietly. The sobbing male relaxed as Harry continued to utter nonsense words and reassurance into his ear. Eventually the tears completely stopped leaving behind only the occasional sob.  
“Wh-” The male stopped as another sob escaped his body before trying again. “Who are you?” This time he managed to finish his question without stammering or breaking into a sob.  
“Harry.” He missed off his last name. He didn't want something like one of Dobby's outbreaks, the small over excitable house elf would probably burst into another round of tears if he thought he had been crying on 'The great Harry Potter's' clothes. Admittedly Dobby was a special case but better safe than sorry. “Who are you?” He asked in turn.  
“L-l-legolas.” He stammered before succeeding in composing himself enough to get a complete answer out. “Legolas Greenleaf.”  
Harry opened his mouth to ask something else but was interrupted by a third voice.  
“Ah, I see our mysterious young guest is awake. Welcome my boy. Good evening Mr. Potter.” Professor Dumbledore smiled merrily, despite having just caught one of his students disobeying an instruction. Harry had the decency to blush under the twinkling gaze of his mentor, realizing he had been caught despite his efforts to avoid just that.  
“Good evening, Professor.” He turned to Legolas who had cowered back slightly at the sudden appearance of the elderly man, who was currently wearing fluorescent pink pyjamas with little rainbows embroidered on them. “Legolas, this is Albus Dumbledore. Headmaster at the Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.”  
“Nice to meet you.” Legolas greeted having recovered from his surprise and fear.  
“Now, Harry, as much as I'm sure Mr. Greenleaf is enjoying your company, you should probably go and get some rest. You have a trial coming up after all.” Harry grimaced at the reminder.  
“Can I see him again, Sir?” He asked as his professor started to steer him back towards the door and away from the mysterious individual on the bed. The headmaster smiled in a way that made Harry suspect his request had been expected.  
“If Mr. Greenleaf so wishes then I see no reason why not. Good night, My Boy.”  
“Goodnight Professor.” Harry sighed realising there was no point in trying to stay any longer. Not with Dumbledore around.  
***  
In the end, Harry didn't get any sleep as instructed. Instead he sat in a ball on his bed in the guest room he shared with Ron, staring out of the dark and dusty glass whilst listening to the familiar rumbling snores of his companion.  
His thoughts stayed Legolas in his room on the fourth floor as minutes turned into hours and his unblinking gaze remained on the slowly brightening sky outside. Would Dumbledore really allow him to see the male again or had that just been false assurance to get him out of the room without complaint? And would the blonde actually want to see him again or was that just wishful thinking? They didn't really know each other so Legolas wouldn't really have any reason to want to see him there was no point in getting his hopes up.  
Dawn came slowly for Harry but he was grateful when the first ray's of pale morning sunlight finally breached the room and roused him from his circling thoughts.  
It was another hour before the rest of the household started to stir and by that time Harry was fully dressed and moving around, much to the surprise of everyone who normally had to stand by him and Ron whilst shouting in their ears before they even started to stir.  
“Your up early.” Hermione had remarked when she came into the kitchen with Ginny to find him digging into a large English breakfast, which Mrs. Weasley had just deposited in front of him. He had just shrugged in reply, not willing to sit through the lecture he knew he would receive if he explained why exactly he had been up before anyone else in Grimmauld place.  
The morning continued in a similar fashion, with every other person to come into the kitchen making some remark about how he was up far earlier than normal. By the time it was Ron's turn to display his surprise he was getting quite sick of it.  
He knew he wasn't the earliest to rise when he could help it, years of getting up at six to prepare the Dursleys their breakfast meant he didn't waste the opportunities for a lie in when they came, however, he wasn't usually the last to wake up and he certainly didn't think he warranted this sort of reaction when he did get up early.  
It was after Sirius came into the kitchen that Harry finally had enough and grabbed what was left on his plate before storming off. Part of him wanted to go up to Legolas and see if he would like any company but he decided to do as he was told for once and, instead of going up the stairs, he tiptoed past the covered portrait of Wolburga Black and exited out in to Grimmauld place's magically enlarged yard.  
There was no grass, only cement tiles with weeds growing in between the cracks, and grey clouds hung low in the sky threatening to rain but the yard was still a massive improvement to the bleak, cramped, atmosphere inside and the patronising people Grimmauld housed. Growing up inside a cupboard had left him feeling uncomfortable in any space that was dark and cramped., so he much preferred to be outdoors where everything was open and there was usually some sort of light. He couldn't imagine what living in this hell hole must be like for Sirius who had spent ten years in a cell that was ten times as bad as his cupboard with the dementors that stood guard in the prison only making things worse.  
There was another reason Harry was out in the yard. A small dilapidated dog house was stood in one corner of the yard, a gaping hole in the side patchily filled in with planks of wood. Through the arched hole in the side that served as an entrance, Harry could see a shock of coal black fur that drifted and curled like smoke of its own accord. A sight of this had been enough to keep the others out of the yard for the whole holiday, especially when the creature had been identified as a shadow wolf, a rare breed of wolf that sold for a killing on the black market and was highly illegal because of how dangerous they were, especially when hungry, but Harry wasn't scared.  
He'd never been scared of animals and the creature staying in the Black families yard had been no exception.  
He approached the dog house and the softly snoring ball of fluff and placed the leftover bacon from his breakfast next to the entrance and sat back on his heels to watch. The snoring stopped as soon as he his hand had been removed and a small shiny black nose appeared from somewhere in the furled fur, sniffing at the air for a moment before it was followed by a fluffy black snout, eerie large red eyes and small black ears that swivelled on a downy head.  
The wolf pup yipped at him in greeting as it sat up, before it pounced on the bacon and started to shake it viciously with it's mouth, assuring itself that it's prey was well and truly dead before gulping it down in a few short bites.  
When it was finished it looked at him hopefully, it's tail wagging happily as it scented the air for any more strips.  
“No I don't have any more, greedy.” He admonished, laughing when the puppy whined. “You can have some more at lunch.” He picked up the unprotesting wolf and placed him in his lap where he proceeded to stroke a hand through the short, wispy, fur coat. “You won't believe who I met last night,” Harry told the wolf, not bothered in the least that his audience was an animal. “His name's Legolas Greenleaf.” He went on to explain to the listening wolf all about the mysterious individual staying in the guest room on the fourth floor.  
Harry liked speaking to animals. They listened when he spoke and didn't try to correct him when he gave an opinion on a matter. In fact, they didn't say anything at all unless it was really important. Harry liked to think that the animals he talked to understood him as well as he understood them. He didn't understand them word for word, of course, animals didn't really have a language. When they needed to communicate they did it through pitch and actions rather than trying to convey what they meant through sentences. Out of the two options, Harry much preferred the animal's way of speaking. There were no long lectures, no pointless chatter and no beating around the bush whilst trying to find the best words to convey what you wanted to say.  
“Ah, Harry, my boy.” Harry was interrupted in his recounting of last nights events by his mentors exclamation. He turned to face the elderly professor, keeping one hand in the puppy's fur where he had been idly scratching behind one of it's ears. The young shadow wolf wasn't fond of the brightly clothed man who was sometimes seen with a phoenix perched on one shoulder and who smelt of sugar and lemons. The headmaster had changed out of the pyjamas and was now wearing sky blue robes with smiley faces sown into the hem. In his hands he held a tray bearing a steaming bowl of porridge and a plate of buttered toast which Harry eyed curiously. “I was wondering if you might be as kind as to carry a heavy tray up to our guest on the fourth floor for an old man. I fear that it would be to heavy for myself to carry and I do not have the time to sit by him as he eats.” He held out the tray imploringly. Seeing an opportunity to visit the object of his curiosity, Harry didn't point out that the headmaster could just use a levitation charm. He also ignored the annoying twinkle present in the sapphire blue depths of the headmaster's eyes.  
He placed the wolf in back in his house before standing and accepting the tray, starting to head back to the house before he paused.  
“Sir?  
“Yes, my boy?”  
“What is he, anyway?”  
“An elf, but obviously not of the same breed as a house elf.” Dumbledore replied and with that he left Harry to his task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. This is my take on an idea presented by huskielover94.  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9515629/4/Harry-Potter-ideas  
> This is dedicated to them and I acknowledge the original idea is their's.


	2. Chapter 2: Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry starts the long process of helping to nurse Legolas back to health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys,  
> Hope you enjoy this next chapter and I apologize that I have been taking so long to update things.

Harry's heart beat loudly in his chest as he approached the fifth room on the fourth floor. The tray in his hands was heavy and the dishes and potions bottles on it rattled and clinked with every step.  
The door wailed in greeting and Harry decided that it sounded eerily similar to the wails that moaning myrtle unleashed on the world at regular intervals.  
His palms were sweaty as he struggled with the weight of the tray, and part of him wondered what his headmasters reasoning had been for sending him when there were many more people in the house who were a lot more qualified than he was when it came to taking care of the sick or wounded. He also wondered what Legolas' reaction would be when he saw him again.  
Said blonde was sitting up in the bed when Harry entered, the storm grey gaze fixated on one bandaged hand, the other was fisted in the bed sheets. He didn't appear to have noticed his presence.  
“Legolas.” Harry called softly. The elf jumped and looked up, tensing and shying back from an imagined hit before relaxing when he realized who had called him, his shoulders visibly sagging with relief. “How are you feeling?” He asked as he approached, placing the tray on the bedside table before pulling up one of the chairs that were lying around the room and sinking into it.  
“Fine.” Muttered the elf, his voice rough and quiet as if he hadn't spoken to anyone but Harry in the past several months, with the exception of screaming. Which if his suspicions were right, was probably the truth of the matter.  
“Liar.” Harry teased, smiling as the elf blushed. Harry could see raw red welts peaking out from underneath the overly large night shirt the blonde had been given and knew from experience how much they must hurt. “Can you stomach some food?” He gestured to the tray next to him, the contents (pumpkin juice, plain porridge and toasted bread) seeming basic next to the large full English being eaten in the kitchen. He understood the reasoning behind it, years spent at the Dursleys had taught him enough to know that going from barely eating to rich greasy foods would do more harm than good.  
Harry laughed when he caught Legolas pulling a face.  
“You'll want to eat something, believe me. I speak from experience.” Harry assured the elf, picking up the porridge and offering it to him.  
“Why?” Legolas looked unconvinced at the bowl, keeping his hands firmly at his side.  
“They sent me in with healing potions.” He stated as if that explained everything, gesturing vaguely at the glass vials and their colourful contents still sitting on the tray. He sighed when all he received in reply was a confused stare. “They'll help you recover quicker but it's not recommended to take them on an empty stomach.”  
Legolas gave the vials a mistrusting glance before accepting the bowl.  
“Will you stay?” Legolas asked uncertainly, starting to eat with slow movements and small spoonfuls.  
“Of course.” The teen replied, choosing not to mention that he was supposed to in order to make sure he took the potions. He watched as the blonde swallowed several more spoonfuls before getting fed up of the silence. “Where do you come from?” He asked.  
“Mirkwood.” Replied the elf, pausing slightly in his meal in order to answer before returning to the porridge. Harry sympathised with the other, watching as he struggled not to let his hunger show in his actions. Despite his earlier reluctance to eat, his hunger had prevented any hesitation and he now ate as if he had been without food for years.  
“Is it nice there?” Harry was eager to hear the other male's voice again and to find out more about his past.  
The blonde nodded before launching into an enthusiastic description of his home. Harry found himself listening intrigued as the elf described the trees and paths of his woodland home, of how in the summer the elves would bathe in the creek that wound its way through mirkwood near his fathers palace. Legolas told him of how Mirkwood used to be called Greenwood before it had been taken over by the necromancer and spiders had come to live there. The elf's voice was enchanting as he spoke fondly of his home, it was still rough and quiet but Harry could hear the emotion behind it and found himself captivated by the vast array of feelings Legolas conveyed to him through his tale.  
Before they knew it an hour had passed and the porridge and the toast had been eaten with neither of them noticing.  
It was when Legolas finally paused, that Harry remembered the potions waiting on the now empty tray. He glanced apologetically at the elf as he poured out the first vial into a glass that had been provided.  
He offered it to the elf, who took it gingerly, staring at the deep red liquid it had been handed. It looked almost like red wine but it was thicker, almost like honey in its density.  
“It's better to try and drink it in one go.” Harry advised seeing the wariness in the other's eyes. Legolas paused, looking up to meet Harry's eyes before nodding and raising the glass to his lips. His face screwed up as he was assaulted by the smell before he threw his head back and gulped the potion down.  
The blond shivered, hunching over slightly as he fought to keep the potion and his breakfast down. Harry rubbed his back with one hand, his other hand pouring out the second potion, this one a nuclear green. He glanced at the trembling elf worriedly and then at the potions remaining.  
There were only another two after this next one but still, looking at the reaction of their guest to the first potion, a blood replenishing potion and undoubtedly the nicest potion that had been on the tray, it would be quite a long process just trying to make sure the potions stayed in the elf's system long enough to have an effect.  
He waited until Legolas sat back up again and nodded to show that he was okay.  
“What was that?” He questioned, halting Harry in the action of handing over the second potion.  
“That? That was a blood replenishing potion I think.” Harry paused uncertainly, come to think of it, whilst he had been almost certain of what it was earlier, now he wasn't so sure. It may have been a pepper up potion.  
“Are they all like that?” The blonde grimaced in remembrance. He elaborated when Harry shot him an uncertain look. “The taste, I mean.”  
“Oh!” Harry exclaimed in realisation. “No,” He gave an apologetic smile when the elf looked relieved. “That was one of the better ones. I've had most of these,” He gestured at the tray. “At least one every year, as it happens, and nether has one appealed to my taste buds. In fact, no potion seems to taste good to the best of my knowledge. Just be glad that Polyjuice potion isn't medicinal.” He handed over the glass before Legolas could ask any more questions.  
The other accepted it gingerly, swishing the glass experimentally and pulling a face when it made a sound reminiscent of something coming into contact with swamp water.  
“Are you sure these are safe to drink?” He asked eventually, looking up from the green goo and Harry found himself biting back a laugh despite himself, something which only became harder when the grey eyed beauty pouted in the most adorable fashion.  
“Certain. A friend of mine claims that the more horrible they taste, the better they are for you and that if it tastes like cherries, chances are, it's poisonous.” Legolas giggled, which should have been strange, coming from a fully grown male, but was oddly endearing and Harry found himself enjoying the sound. It was with a heavy heart that he pushed the green glass up towards slightly parted lush lips until the blonde noticed the glass and gathered his courage to drink down the contents.  
The process was repeated with the remaining potions, with Legolas attempting to distract Harry so that he would forget about the remaining oddly coloured medicines and Harry steeling himself against puppy dog eyes and pouts to insist that the next potion was taken and swallowed. With each concoction the reaction became increasingly worse until with the final potion Harry was rubbing Legolas' throat as the elf gagged and chocked on the vile mixture. It was hard to watch and unbearable to listen to but Harry knew the alternative was so much worse; to have to see this gorgeous male forced to lie in this miserable bed alone and away from the rest of the houses' occupants for an indefinite amount of time, his features permanently scarred.  
He couldn't bare to think about how miserable the elf would be, unable to return to his family, race and the home he spoke of so fondly so instead he grit his teeth and did his best not to listen to the harsh pants coming from the figure now lying almost completely limply on the bed, the exception being one pale and too thin hand which gripped at Harry like his life depended on it.  
Harry waited until Legolas' eyes closed and his grip loosened before reluctantly pulling back, settling the hand which had been gripping him before retreating from the room. He lingered for a moment, watching the relaxed figure on the bed before allowing the door to swing shut.  
He sighed as he leant against the wall, trying to get the memory of Legolas' reaction to the potions out of his mind and allowing his eyes to wonder around the hallway in search of a distraction.  
The fourth floor was rarely used, with little on it to encourage people into coming up past the third floor. There were a few clusters of black hair here and there, tell tale signs of Sirius running around in his animagus form, but besides that there were only large packs of dust bunnies. Curtains in varying states of disrepair were still hanging over certain areas of the wall where once there had probably been portraits of blacks from ages past.  
These curtains must have been stuck onto the wall with the same charm that was preventing them from removing Mrs Black, he mused, for them to have escaped being taken down by Mrs Weasley the last time she had been up here.  
Allowing his curiosity to guide him he pushed off of the wall and started to wonder through the hall, trying the doors cautiously as he came to them. The order had already been up here and checked for curses on the doors but other than strong locking charms on some doors, this floor had been declared clean of anything dangerous, unlike the door leading into the study down on the first floor.  
About half of the doors Harry tried were locked tight and he left those doors, afraid of what might happen if he tried to force one. The rest of the doors were creaky, with rusting hinges and dusty handles. The rooms behind these contained little more than old and bleak guest rooms, broken portraits and furniture as well as some more house elf heads like the ones hanging in the stairwell.  
It was the last room he came across that attracted Harry's attention, just as he was about to turn back. It was different from the others, with a space in front of it that was clear of dust, suggesting that it had been opened recently. The brass handle, too, was clear of dust and when he pushed down on it, the door opened without noise or resistance.  
He entered only to find himself in a room that reminded him strongly of the store rooms in use at Hogwarts. Long shelves stretched in back of the room, disappearing in the shadows. Each shelf bore a variety of objects and Harry perused each of them curiously, wondering if these were objects they had been unable to remove from the house or if they were items grabbed during raids.  
There were tomes and grimoires bound heavily in seals and half concealed under blankets of grey dust that had been allowed to settle. Strange orbs and whirring trinkets reminded him of the displays present in Dumbledore's office. It was all interesting, even though Harry couldn't even begin to guess as to the purpose of more than half of the objects stored in the room. He made a game out of it, guessing what each item did and, once he had decided that this must be a dump for the order after raids, where they had been snatched from.  
After a long period of time, however, he found himself almost at the end of the shelves, the items on them now in sparse groups as he reached spaces which had yet to be employed. He was contemplating going back to the more interesting parts of the room when he noticed something glinting in the corner of his eye, reflecting the shaky candlelight that had managed to pierce the darkness from the doorway.  
He turned towards it squinting to make out the shape of it in the darkness, slowly coming to realise how slim the chances were of him seeing it as it seemed to have been discarded hastily in the very corner of the storeroom, almost completely hidden in the darkness. He bit his lip nervously before breaking his self inflicted no touching rule and reaching out to grab it.  
The item was small and cold in his hands, a green coloured gem, roughly the size of his hand, shaped like a star, which was hanging from a thin silver chain.  
Against his better judgement he pocketed it and left the room quickly, shutting the door firmly behind him in the hopes that no one would notice he had been in there.


	3. Chapter 3: Legolas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas faces the first of the aftereffects of his treatment at Voldemort's hands.

The world around him was swimming in a perpetual blur of greys and blacks. Legolas wondered dazedly if one of the mid tones he could just about make out would be the same shade as he imagined pain would be if it were a colour.  
Every limb hurt, as if someone had tied him face down to the floor and had let a herd of Mumakil roam over his backside, except that wouldn't explain the pain in certain areas down below his waist.  
The red welts he was uncomfortably aware of, adorning the length of his back and even crossing over his pectoral muscles, ached and cracked with every shift of his body forcing a groan from his throat even as he registered the soft linen sheets that surrounded him. A heady scent reached his nose, sharp and unfamiliar, like nothing he had ever encountered over in his home world.  
His breathing picked up, becoming harsh and irregular as his brain caught up to what his body was telling him in conflict to what his brain knew.  
Each of the wounds on his body, he knew, were red, bloody and raw. All of them were likely to scar in the future and should definitely be setting alight his nerve endings at this point, and yet, all the pain he could feel was dulled, still there and still extremely painful but it was nothing in comparison to what it should be.  
Legolas began to panic, forgetting everything about where he was and why as his body struggled to get enough oxygen from his erratic breathing.  
Where was he? Was this another fiendish trick by his captives, some fiendish ploy to trick him into lowering his guard?  
It wouldn't be the first time. It had happened before. His captor had taken him from his cell about two weeks after his initial capture and had pretended to be a friend, an ally, an escaped prisoner. Some kind of cruel trickery had tricked Legolas' eyes so that he saw the face of a fellow elf.  
For one brief moment he had allowed himself to feel hope that everything would be okay, they would get out and find away back home. Then it had all come crashing down around him and he had been thrown back into his cell, the image of his kinsman wielding the whip that burned into his back seared permanently on his brain. It was only later that he had found out it was a human, using magic as a disguise.  
He couldn't let that happen again.  
He thrashed wildly, his resistant limbs tangling with the bed spread, fighting to get away from the hideous red eyed beast that he could see in his minds eyes. The things lips were stretched into a cruel smirk, pale skin pulled back and stretched to reveal pointed yellow teeth. It reached out towards him, grasping with thin, white skeletal hands. He could feel its hands on his body, groping his shoulders and his back.  
Wait, no. Not groping, they were shaking him... or were they rubbing his back maybe? He lessened his struggling slightly, trying to concentrate on the hands he could feel on his back and shoulders, struggling with himself to open his eyes. When had he closed them?  
His frantic pants slowly receded and his ears slowly began to come into focus, picking up soothing nothings that lingered calmingly in the air around him.  
“There you go, that's better. Focus on me, that's it.” He vaguely recognized the voice, latching onto the syllables and strange accent rather than actually listening to the words. Battling with his haze clouded mind he was able to dredge up the memory of the teenage boy who had first spoken to him.  
Harry, he told himself. A strange name, he registered distractedly, not as strange as Dumblegore (or whatever the Gandalf lookalikes name had been), but still pretty strange. Lots of things in this strange world were. He missed his home, things had made sense there.  
Here everyone seemed to be a wizard, and human, except for the strange greyish-green creature with pointed ears that had brought the Gandalf lookalike a snack the other night. He had called it a house elf.  
What was a house elf? If it was an elf, why did it look the way it did- green and small, with disproportionate features and wearing what looked like some kind of ripped sac.  
He gasped, his train of thought almost sending him into another panic attack, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes and spilling down his cheeks unchecked.  
Careful hands pulled him into a sitting position as he began to sob, the beg sagged as the teen moved onto it, disregarding the creaking bed to wrap his arms around the distraught elf in a comforting embrace. Almost instinctively Legolas leaned into the warmth, soaking up the kind attention even as his wounds protested the movement. His hands grabbed onto the folds in the wizards clothing, scared that if he let go the teen would be ripped away.  
“H-harry?” He sniffed, voice hoarse and halting. The teen shushed him softly, rocking him reassuringly.  
“I'm here, Legolas. I've got you.” Harry kept repeating things along those lines into his ears, which tingled from the feel of his warm breath. He focused on the sound of his voice and the rise and fall of his sides, trying to match their breathing.  
His surroundings came into focus slowly. The door was still swinging on its hinges from Harry's abrupt entrance and at some point the bed side chair had toppled. Both must have made a lot of noise, he realised. Perhaps something had even been broken in Harry's rush to get to him?  
“I-I’m s-sorry.”  
“Don't be, it's not your fault.” Legolas wondered if Harry knew what he was apologizing for, or if he himself knew for that matter. There was silence for a moment as he just listened to the steady beating of the other's heart, before there was movement by the door.  
Legolas didn't look up, closing his eyes tightly so he wouldn't see the strangers at the door or the disapproving looks they were probably giving him. He must be causing everyone a lot of trouble. His heart clenched when he realised that he might be making things difficult for Harry.  
“Madame Pomfrey-” Harry was addressing the person at the door but Legolas took more notice of the hand petting his hair. It felt nice. They were talking about him, he noted, but he didn't pay too much attention, catching only the tail ends of sentences and the general gist of what was being said.  
“-done... him?”  
“Not my place-”  
“Can you... him?” Here there was a pause, as the female considered something, then movement towards them. Legolas tensed. He didn't know this woman, she was strange and was speaking harshly, although he could tell she was trying to speak softly in consideration for him.  
She stopped, perhaps catching the movement. He listened carefully to what was said next.  
“He isn't comfortable in my presence, Mr Potter. I will leave these with you to give to him.” She handed two small vials to Harry before turning abruptly and striding briskly out of the room, sparing Legolas one last measuring look before leaving down a corridor he couldn't see.  
Harry was talking again.  
“Legolas, I need you to drink these for me.” He spoke softly, maintaining the soft petting with one hand as his other held up the two clear vials. One was filled with what looked like honey, whilst the other looked like water but with a thick, gloopy consistency.  
He pulled a face, shivering at the memory of the last strange medicines he had to ingest.  
Harry smiled sadly. “I know, but they will help honestly.”  
Legolas kept his mouth firmly shut, knowing that he was acting like a petulant child but letting it slide for now. If it meant no more of the foul tasting concoctions he would quite happily act like a spoilt elfling for the rest of his life.  
Harry sighed, caressing Legolas' jaw lightly. “For me?” He asked, his voice filled with such emotion that Legolas made the mistake of looking up at his face. His beautiful green eyes were staring down at him without blinking, their depths filled with worry.  
He leaned heavily against the boys shoulder and nodded hesitantly. Harry smiled at him, before uncorking the vial containing the honey. Legolas doubted this was actually what the contents were but parted his lips anyway, allowing Harry to pour the substance down his throat.  
It didn't taste particularly horrible, Legolas realised with relief, but it seemed to be taking an instant effect on him, relaxing him and muting out his stronger emotions so that he was almost completely calm. Almost without thought he relaxed against the firm form of the teen, opening his lips for the second vial without protest.  
Legolas wasn't given much chance to taste the second one, although he could feel Harry rubbing his throat soothingly as he gagged reflexively. He was dimly aware that it met the expectations he had come to hold for the strange liquids the wizards gave him, and that the after-taste it left in his mouth was foul but he was strangely detached from it all, as if feeling the experience from outside his body. He relaxed further into the secure embrace, dimly feeling himself being laid back down on the bed and tucked back in before he lost the battle to stay awake and fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying this fanfiction. Please remember to comment and leave kudos. Comments encourage me to update sooner and give me ideas for how to continue.


	4. Chapter 4: Legolas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas remembers how he came to be captured in the first place and faces off against a demon in human form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go. Another update! Sorry, it's so late, however I'm trying to write my own book as well as these fanfictions and understandably that is taking up quite a bit of my time. For those of you who are interest in my book then please check it out: my Wattpad is called Rien-Raith and the book is currently titled Incarnated although that might change at some point in the future.  
> Also, for those of you who have also read An Angel from on High, I am almost finished with the next chapter for that. Please just be patient and I will get that out when I can.

When Legolas woke up, Harry was gone. The toppled chair had been picked up and the door was no longer swinging like a pendulum.

He was alone, in a room of grey and shadows, sparsely decorated, with windows which were conspicuous in their absence. Legolas shuddered, eyeing the door warily.

Part of him wanted the door to open and for Harry to be the one on the other side, even if he came in bearing an armful of those horrid concoctions as had happened several times now. They weren't so bad, he supposed, if downing them daily, as he assumed from his sleep cycles he was doing, would help to shorten his time confined to this room, and if they would also bring with them the company of Legolas' saviour, the sole bright side of his situation.

And sometimes he was lucky. The door would open, Harry would indeed be on the other side, but his arms were empty, or perhaps simply laden with food, which the boy seemed determined to introduce him to. No potions and pleasant company, he woke for those moments rare as they were.

However, there was another part of him dreading the next time the door would open. After all, it wasn't always Harry who entered. There were three other people, two of whom Legolas could bare, if it meant his getting better, strange or as strict as they were. Harry seemed to respect them at least, and that soothed Legolas somewhat. He doubted the boy would trust someone that was undeserving of that trust.

The old man was almost enough to make Legolas even more homesick than he already was. His countenance was so alike to Gandalf's but for the strange, bright clothes that he seemed to always be wearing. Even the twinkle was so the same, and no less annoying.

The woman- Harry had called her Madam Pomfrey?- was less welcome, although she wasn't necessarily an unpleasant kind of person. In her own way, she was; always making polite conversation with her strict tones to distract him whilst she checked and prodded at his wounds. However, she was intimidating- even to an elf that was over two thousand years old- and didn't pay much attention to anything outside of her primary purpose of nursing her patients back to health. He missed Elrond.

The third was another man. Tall and straight backed, with shoulder length greasy black hair, which matched his black gaze. His nose was crooked as if it had been broken at one point and never healed properly, and Legolas could feel his eyes on him every time the man came in with those potions.

He was as foul as the liquids he apparently brewed and found little sympathy for Legolas' reaction to his potions, sneering cruelly and simply proceeding to force the next brew down the elf's throat, leaving him little time to even regain his breath. More than once he had thrown up and then the man would leave him, after casting a spell which cleaned Legolas and the sheets with cruel efficiency. Comfort was left up to Harry, whenever he next appeared.

Harry didn't trust the man, there seemed to be a strong and violent grudge between the two of them. Legolas couldn't help but agree with Harry's distrust, if only because he was sure he had seen that hair before here and there was only one place that could have been. It was a memory linked with pain and white, skull masks; one which he shoved down as fast as it appeared.

He halted the memory before it could go anywhere. The last thing he needed was to have a panic attack whilst Harry wasn't here to comfort him. He didn't trust these people, outside of Harry. Besides he didn't need his own memory to prove that the man was untrustworthy. Harry didn't trust the man, and that was enough for Legolas.

Harry wouldn't be coming today. This news had been imparted on him by the old man, who had seemed in a hurry and was dressed in plain black robes- something Legolas hadn't thought the man even owned. The old man had said something about a trial for the use of under-age magic, whatever that meant, and then had left swiftly with a short, polite farewell. Legolas had been alone ever since.

Being alone seemed to be presenting a problem. Left alone, his mind was free to wander and there was only so long he could spend thinking about Harry and Harry's trial. Eventually, his mind began to wander and despite his best efforts to think of other things, namely Harry, he found himself beginning to fall into memories that were better left untouched.

Such as his capture, and then his stay, at the cruel and merciless hands of the death eaters. What a cruel day that had been. So sunny, warm, calm. Everything Legolas normally looked for in a day. It had been a nice day that he intended to spend lazing in his favourite tree; a large oak, with mighty branches, that had grown up just outside of his father's kingdom, and was therefore a relatively safe spot to relax in.

It was a nice change of pace after the hectic journey he had shared with the other members of the fellowship. Finally some time for himself, with no dead line to meet and nothing out for his life except for maybe a few rogue spiders encroaching too closely on his father's land.

Spiders didn't worry him. He had dealt with them for as long as he could remember, and it wasn't like he was alone. Guards were posted around the boarders within human hearing distance from the tree Legolas was lying in, all of them fully armoured, armed and alert, and Legolas had his own weapons within easy reach as he always did.

He hadn't had any trouble believing that he was safe, because, what was there that could stand against a fully trained Elf prince and a small platoon of skilled guards, short of an army? Clearly he hadn't been as safe as he had originally assumed he was.  
There hadn't been an army, just ten men- If they even were men, they could easily have been women. All of them were dressed in black, with white masks. There may have been a flash of straight blonde hair, whiter than his own, or a glimpse of black curly hair. He thought he had seen a bolt of red light as he had been dropping from his perch, and behind the approaching men he thought he may have seen a kind of rip, one which split up the air in an impossible manner and separated the forest with an out of place scene, consisting of cold stone and fire. Then he only remembered darkness.

When he had next woken up, he had been chained up and alone. He was surrounded by stone on three sides and steel bars on the fourth, through which he could glimpse a corridor which continued off to his left and to his right, bordered by cells just like his. Legolas had assumed he was alone, thanks to the all consuming silence (which he now knew could have easily been a result of some strange spell cast over his place of confinement), although from the spell and the suspicious dampness of the hay coating the floor, he had guessed that his cell hadn't been empty for very long before his arrival.

The door to his room slamming open jerked Legolas forcefully from his remembrance, and he found himself staring into the eyes of the man with the black hair, who Harry hated so much, in surprise. He was suddenly painfully aware of the tears that had previously been rolling down his cheeks unchecked and unchallenged.

Shock and fear paralysed him, leaving the elf to mentally curse his luck. Why did the man pick now to come barging in? On most occasions this man was an unwelcome intrusion in Legolas' borrowed room, but at this instant in particular, his presence was painful, bringing up unwanted memories on top of those that Legolas had already been enduring. He could already tell that no sympathy would be forthcoming.

Dark eyes were unmoved as they watched him. Legolas hated those eyes. He couldn't stand them. He couldn't escape them. They were always watching, always judging. In them, there seemed to be represented everything that Legolas had suffered at the hands of his captors.

A whimper escaped his lips and the cold faced man sneered. He strode forwards, in large, confident steps, quickly crossing the gap between the door and Legolas. In response, the blonde felt his head moving, tilting up so that he continued to peer into the black holes that had been carved into the man's face.

He didn't understand his own actions. Why could he not look away? Why was he unable to end his own suffering? It would be so simple, he just had to look away. He could look anywhere else and yet he was helpless against the invisible hands which must have been forcing him to look on.

A shiver racked his body. Perhaps that was not as outrageous as it sounded. This man was a wizard was he not? It could be a spell. But then what reason could the man possibly have had for wanting to look into Legolas' eyes? Unless the man liked to see the fear his presence caused in the elf? Harry certainly portrayed him as a man who would enjoy such a thing. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Stop snivelling.” That was another thing he disliked about the man.

He was a sharp man. His words cut to the core and left scars behind them. He did not take time out of the day for simple platitudes or pleasantries. He said his bit, accomplished his task and then left as swiftly as he had originally appeared. No energy was expended on emotions, not even his own.

Legolas floundered helplessly before such a being, currently unable to handle the acerbic attitude that he might once have been able to defend himself against. His tears at least, seemed to have died down, unable to continue in the man's presence.  
A vial was shoved beneath his nose and Legolas was finally able to break eye contact, fixating instead on the brown, almost black, substance that was being proffered.

“Drink. I did not come here for the joy of your company.” Legolas didn't dare to pull a face or make a noise as he might have done if it were anyone else telling him to drink the vile concoction. He didn't take much time to consider the command either.  
He still remembered the first time he had met this man. He had hesitated then, unwilling to drink anything the man gave him. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

The potion tasted like- like- he wasn't sure what exactly it tasted like. It was a flavour he could honestly and gladly say he had never experienced outside of previous experiences of taking this potion. Harry had once compared it to what he imagined petrol should taste like, although Legolas wasn't quite sure what that meant. He had never come across anything called petrol, not that that was saying much any more. Legolas hadn't previously heard of most of the things he was now in constant contact with.

As was this man's- Legolas supposed he should probably learn the man's name- norm, another potion was shoved beneath Legolas' nose before he had even had time to fully swallow the last one. A forceful grip tipped it into his mouth as he hurried to empty his mouth of the last one; potions did not taste any better when mixed together, if anything they got even worse, which he had at first presumed was not possible.

He didn't quite succeed in his endeavour and found himself choking as his mouth filled with what seemed like a lake of a potion that tasted like rotten eggs whilst his throat was still working around the last liquid. Bile was soon climbing up his throat to join the horrid combination, forcing him to cover his mouth with a hand so that he did not have to go through the experience again.

This sequence of events was repeated over and over again, as the man mercilessly emptied the contents of his many vials into the retching elf, pausing only to pull the stoppers from each glass tube. Finally, however, the man had run his supply dry, to which his only response was to turn sharply and leave the room in a flourish of billowing black robes, pausing only to collect the now empty glass containers.

Left alone and fighting the urge to violently empty out his stomach, Legolas curled into his stomach and cried, wishing for his home and Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter guys. Please continue to review as a lot of you have been. It really encourages me to sit down and do some more writing and is one of the large factors in why I have managed to get this chapter out today rather than at some crazy point in the future like August or something.

**Author's Note:**

> A.N. This is my take on an idea presented by huskielover94.  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9515629/4/Harry-Potter-ideas  
> This is dedicated to them and I acknowledge the original idea is their's.


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